Ain't No Valley
by femme avenger
Summary: Santana and her entourage of matchmakers crusade to make Rachel and Quinn see what's right in front of them. Companion piece to River Deep, Mountain High. R/Q with a helping of Brittana.


_**i.**_

_**Santana Lopez**_

They're playing Spin-The-Bottle in Puck's mildewy basement when Santana finally puts a face to _It. It _with a capital _I-t It_. The proverbial _It. _The elephant in the room _It. _The slushy-to-the-face _It. _

Just..._It. _

That night, Berry's turn to spin comes amidst a cloud of playful hollers from her fellow glee clubbers and a few shoulder checks from her ex-boyfriend. She laughs loudly [that goddamn Rachel Berry laugh that could fill a high-ceilinged cathedral with it's obnoxiousness] and pitches forward on her hands and knees, giving the empty bottle of jack a powerful twist and sitting back on her haunches. After a few dizzying turns around the room, the nose of the bottle comes to an unsteady stop on none other than Brittany Pierce.

Santana narrows her eyes.

It's not that she feels her relationship with her girlfriend is threatened by Berry-partly because, _excuse me_, this is Rachel Freaking Berry we're talking about here-and partly because Brittany has this fear of argyle after her uncle, who had a penchant for argyle cardigans, showed Little Britt his socket from where he'd lost his eye during the Gulf War. She still cries every time they pass the boy's section in Hollister.

So there's some fundamental incompatibility there.

Santana just doesn't like people putting their grubby hands on what's special to her. It would be like letting some asshole you don't even like into your house and watching them touch all of your most precious possessions. Your pictures, those ugly-ass angel figurines your _abuelita_ insists on getting you every year for Christmas. It's an invasion of personal space by proxy.

The thought makes her scowl.

"Two-second time limit, Man-Hands," she snaps. "I'll be counting."

That's when the big _It _happens. Quinn, who had previously been involved in a whispered conversation with Mercedes, head ducked down and shoulders quaking with laughter every few minutes, perks up in a fashion not unlike a meerkat.

"What did you just call her?" The ex-cheerio's harsh voice digs a heel into the last embers of conversation in the room. The noise dwindles down and all heads crane to look at the two HBIC's-but for a moment, even Santana is taken aback.

"What, _Man-Hands?" _Santana scoffs in disbelief, finally gathering herself. "Q, you _invented _that nickname. Don't get all righteous on me now."

"I know, _S." _Quinn hisses. "I know I invented that nickname." Her words are rapidly picking intensity. "That nickname is _mine. I _made it up. That's _my thing _with Berry and _I'm _the only one who ever, ever gets to call Rachel that _so just back the fuck up off my territory Santana okay?"_

And there _It _is.

Where before there had been silence, there is now a gaping hole of confusion and fear. Santana turns to Berry to check if maybe this is all some kind of tasteless joke, but the diva's jaw seems to have come unhinged as she gawks at Quinn in wonder. Finn's caterpillar eyebrows have shot above his fauxhawk.

"I think Quinn just had an aneurysm." Brittany chirps helpfully.

In the kitchen, Matt downs a jell-o shot before vomiting in the sink.

* * *

><p>"So Q." Santana greets, taking a seat at their lunch table. "How long have you wanted to get up on Berry's lady business?"<p>

Quinn gracefully chokes on a mouthful of pudding.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Santana." She recovers, using her napkin to wipe a bit of vanilla off her clavicle. Quinn had left the party shortly after the debacle, citing a call from her mother informing her that her Collie had just gotten into the dark chocolate. She'd scurried out the door, ignoring Brittany's protests that she was the owner of two Saint Bernard's, not a Collie. "Like I'd ever want anything to do with Berry's _lady business._"

"Okay-number one, don't use air quotes. This isn't 1994. Number two-stop lying to me, you dirty slut. Me and the rest of glee saw you bust a capillary when I used your twisted pet name for the midget."

"I was drunk."

"_Please. _Like you'd ever have another wine cooler with Puck in the same tri-county area. I saw you down two "virgin mimosas"." She pauses for effect, before elaborating: "_Orange juice. _Quinn, you had two glasses of _orange juice." _

"You know what?" Quinn huffs, picking up her tray. "I'm not talking to you about this. This is _so _none of your business, Lopez." She swivels on her heel and storms out.

"She does the diva storm-out just like Rachel." Observes Brittany. Under the table, Santana squeezes her hand.

_**ii.**_

_**Quinn Fabray**_

Quinn isn't as repressed and oblivious as everybody thinks she might be. She _knows _she has the hots for Berry, okay? She's like a little boy on the playground, she just can't control herself from tugging at the brunette's pigtails every once and a while. And it's not like she's never _tried _to put the moves on Rachel.

Last week she carried her books to and from chemistry class for three days straight, made small-talk with her at her locker during passing period-she even called off a slushie attack planned by Karovsky and his band of goons. Despite all of Quinn's invaluable efforts, Rachel hadn't seemed to shift past the "grateful but fundamentally distrusting" stage of her feelings for the cheerleader. Which was a little bit confusing because, _hello, _this is Quinn Dolores Fabray, HBIC, and she knows boys who would go all _127 Hours _on their own right arm just to get a grope under the spanks.

So why wasn't Berry going for it?

All this had culminated in Quinn persuading Shue to do another duets challenge and pairing herself up with Rachel. She had hoped that time in the diva's bedroom, alone, _practicing, _might entice some sort of tension that would cause Rachel to make a move. The only things that ended up happening were them loosing to Santana and Brittany's [admittedly moving] rendition of Ani Difranco's _Both Hands _and Berry convincing Quinn to tutor her in calculus.

She is Quinn Dolores Fabray, smooth criminal.

_Yeah, right._

Rudolph, her St. Bernard, comes trundling up to the distraught blond from her place on the floor in front of the couch. She is perusing her calculus textbook, looking for something to teach Rachel during their next meeting [in the astrology room during free period. God.].

"What do you think, Rudy? Do I have a chance with Rachel freaking Berry?"

Rudolph licks her textbook.

Quinn sighs.

_**iii.**_

_**Kurt & Finn Hummel-Hudson**_

"What in the name of Jesus, Mary, Joseph and their camel is going _on _with Quinchel?"

Finn likes being Kurt's step-brother. He really does. Now that they've got separate rooms in the new house, he likes it a lot more. They're kind of _bros _now-legally and metaphorically-and Finn has to admit, having a bro who isn't going to go banging on your best girl is a welcome change.

Still, sometimes Kurt can be a little hard to keep up with. Especially since it's Thursday night and all he wants to do is play a little Mario Kart before bed.

"I mean, first Quinn starts staring at Rachel's ass like she's in the desert and it's some sort of God-damn mirage. Which is _weird, _okay, but we all know Quinn is so far in the closet she's practically in Narnia. It's just repressed homosexy feelings bubbling to the surface.

"But then Puck's _party. _I mean, _what? _I don't even know, Finn. Her _eyes_-she looked like that crazy astronaut lady who tried to kidnap that other astronaut lady, you know?" From his place on the bean-bag chair by Finn's bed, Kurt shivers. "Spooky. Anyway, I talked to Mercedes and _she _knows just as much as anybody else-which is _nothing. _Quinn's lips are sealed tighter than her legs-and who knew that was even _possible-_and she's not giving up anything surrounding the matter of her little outburst, except for pleading intoxication. Which is _ridiculous, _seeing as she was nursing an orange juice the entire night. And I overheard Rachel and her in the astronomy room yesterday-apparently she's tutoring our little diva in calculus. I mean, how _absurd-" _

"Quinn has the hots for Rachel, dude." Finn hits the car ahead of him with a green shell and can't help but pump his fist in victory, bouncing his butt off the bed a little before settling back down. He doesn't take his eyes off the TV screen and he doesn't notice Kurt staring at him with a dumbstruck expression.

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah. Since, like, Sophomore year. She totally wants in Rach's granny panties. She's like-" He pauses, mashing buttons and poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he cruises around a sharp bend. "-when a little boy likes a girl so he dips her pigtails in ink and shit. Like, _Little House on the Green Gables-"_

"_Little House on the Prairie, Anne of Green Gables." _Kurt corrects absently.

"-or whatever. Yeah. And she's really bummed about not being able to have Rachel, like..._really. _You can tell. 'Cause when she's not looking at her like my aunt Lily looks at her seventeen year old paperboy after she gets into the cooking sherry, she just looks...sad. Y'know? Lost. I feel pretty bad for her, to tell you the truth." He pauses the game then, finally looking up at Kurt. "You mean you haven't noticed all that?"

Kurt is silent for a moment, jaw slack, before he rises, grabs Finn's head and kisses his mussed locks. "Finn Daniel Hudson, you are smarter than people give you credit for. I have to go send a mass text." And skips from the boy's room.

Finn sits there for a moment and smiles. He likes it when people tell him he's smart. But Kurt's outburst is a little uncalled for. Quinn's homosexy feelings for Rachel are, like..._common knowledge, _right?

Either way, he shrugs and goes back to his game.

_**iiii.**_

_**Mercedes Jones, Noah Puckerman, & Brittany S. Pierce**_

Ever since Santana's grandmama got sick and she had to go to Oaxaca for the week, Britt's been a little bit lost. And she needs a tutor for Spanish, which, Mercedes and Puck thought, wouldn't be any big thing. Santana seemed to have gotten through to her pretty well now that they were dating and, last time Mercedes had heard of it, Brittany was nursing a solid B in Mr. Shue's class.

So, despite Britt's protests of "only Santana knows how to teach me those kinds of things", the duo walked her down to the school library on Friday afternoon, seating themselves at an empty table and cracking open their textbooks.

That's when Mercedes's phone buzzed;

_MJ,_  
><em>Sources confirm that Quinn's got gay jungle fever for our favorite diva. I think it's time for an intervention a la the hit reality show <em>Intervention. _Hudson and I will be at the school's back entrance in 10. Let us in. Artie and Tina won't be far behind. We're skyping Santana _  
><em>in. <em>

_This is not a drill._

_-KH._

_**v.**_

**Artie Abrams & Tina Cohen-Chang**

Artie distangles his lips from Tina's for a moment to say; "I just got a message from Kurt saying that Quinn wants to get down on Rachel's dirty."

Tina nods. "Nice."

They continue to kiss.

_**vi.**_

_**Brad**_

All of the glee kids are having an impromptu aftershool meeting in the choir room. None of them seem to notice Brad at the piano.

Which is alright. Nobody ever notices Brad.

They're talking animatedly about that blond cheerleader who's tutoring that yappy brunette in calculus, which Brad finds odd-because, generally, when he was in high school, if somebody offered to _tutor _you in _calculus, _it usually meant they wanted to cop a feel behind the school. Not that they...actually wanted to tutor you in calculus.

Plus, those two so _obviously _have to hots for each other. At least, according to the angry Latina being skyped in on one of the school's laptops. She barks out something about how the Blond one claimed to have been drunk at Puck's party.

Brad scoffs.

What a liar. She was definitely drinking Orange Juice that entire night.

_Duh. _

_**vii.**_

_**Rachel Barbra Berry & Everyone else**_

Rachel doesn't like the looks she receives when she enters the choir room for glee practice the next day.

She doesn't like that the blinds are closed in Mr. Shue's office and there are muffled sounds coming from behind the door that are not unlike a chair with somebody in it clunking around.

She doesn't like all of the glee kids, sans Quinn, who had a dentist appointment that morning, standing in front of the bleachers, heads craned to look at her. She doesn't like that Santana, who is supposed to be in Oaxaca all this week, is projected on a computer screen sitting on the piano.

She doesn't like the way Brad looks like he knows everything.

"Rachel," Kurt says cordially. "please take a seat." He gestures to the bleachers.

"Sorry, Rach." Finn says, rubbing the back of his head. "I tried to stop him."

Feeling like she has no other choice, Rachel concedes and makes her way over to the bleachers, sitting on a red chair in the middle row. She clears her throat before asking,

"Is this an Intervention? A la the hit reality show, _Intervention?"_

Kurt smirks.

_**vii**_

_**Quinn Fabray & Rachel Berry**_

Quinn hums as she walks down the hall to the astronomy room. It had been a good morning-aside from the dentist appointment, but even that wasn't so tedious. Running her tongue over her smooth teeth, the girl smiled and reflected that she enjoyed the way her mouth felt after returning from Dr. Lasser's office.

She turns down the hall and enters the astronomy room, prepared to find Rachel and three other groups of kids-all goofing off during their free period-but sees, with a little bit of shock, the solitary diva seated under the diagram of the solar system.

Their eyes lock.

Quinn gulps. Something's off.

"Uh, hey Rachel."

"Hello, Quinn."

"Where's everybody else?"

"I made them leave."

"Oh..." There's a disquieting silence. Rachel is looking at her like she's got the answers to something written on her forehead, and if she can just stare hard enough, she'll see them. Quinn squirms under her scrutiny.

"Would you like to take a seat?"

"No, I'm good...standing."

"Suit yourself. Either way, we have to have a discussion."

"Oh."

"It has come to my attention, via Kurt and the rest of the glee club, that you have acquired what they have oh-so-eloquently referred to as "gay jungle fever" for me-"

"_Oh."_

"-which would certainly explain your bizarre outburst at Noah's party better than your flimsy claims of intoxication, which do not hold weight under thefact that you were drinking orange juice the entire night-"

"...Oh."

"-and despite your track record of cruelty towards me, I have found that you, in the past few months, have been increasingly pleasant..._kind, _even. And although I admit to still harbor feelings of resentment over our past encounters, and I certainly do not condone your staring at my butt like I'm some cheap floozy in a music video, I cannot deny that I feel...similar things...for you." She pauses, no longer holding Quinn's gaze. Her eyes fall to her hands, which rest against the smooth top of the table, palms up. "I think." Rachel finishes, somewhat lamely.

"You think?" Quinn breathes in disbelief. Of course this is the _one thing _Rachel Berry can't make up her freaking mind about. _God._

"I think. But I need you to kiss me first. Just. Just to be sure. Okay?"

"_Oh._" Quinn breathes. "Okay." And then she's moving-slowly. Rachel makes no move to get out of her chair, so Quinn pulls out the one across from her and sits. That's how they are for a moment. Just sitting. Rachel looks up from her hands for a moment. Looks at a point above the girl's head, looks at the planets rotating above them. Then she looks at Quinn.

And she _smiles._

And then that's how they are for a moment. Just smiling. Before Quinn gently lifts her behind from the chair, just a fraction of an inch, places her hands on the table and, leaning over, kisses Rachel Berry.

_**epilogue**_

_**Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce**_

Brittany watches with a sort of religious wonder as, under the blankets, Santana braves the mountains and valleys of their crumpled bedsheets to lie next to her. Their naked shoulders brushing, their noses and their lips.

"I'm glad you came back from Oaxaca, San." Brittany whispers.

Santana smiles. "So. Give me the skinny on Tubbers and the Smurf. What did I miss while I was gone?"

"Don't call them that," Her girlfriend chastises gently. "Quinn's not even pregnant anymore, so don't."

"Q and Rachel."

"Q's playing basketball with her."

"What?" Brittany wrinkles her nose.

"Well, I asked Artie, and he said that Rachel and Quinn both like each other very much but because Rachel is so _high maintenance-_I guess that means that she needs a lot of fixing, like our leaky sink-she's making Q _court _her. Like in basketball."

Santana lets out a bark of laughter.

"What? It's not that funny. Do you think we can buy tickets to go see their games?"

"Yeah, B." She affectionately kisses her girlfriend's earlobe. "I wouldn't miss this one for the world."

_**a/n: I hope this gave you lots of homosexy feelings. Sequel on the way-Quinn courting Rachel, more of Quinn's St. Bernards, more sex, more profanity, more teenage shenanigans. Stay tuned. **_


End file.
